


Probably Only Insomnia

by MundaneChampagne



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Annoying OCs with Audiographs, Asexual Character, F/M, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Post-Low Chaos Ending, Queerplatonic relationship, angst? probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 12:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2388830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Emily is restored to the throne, everything seems to be going well. The Rat Plague has been cured. There is peace in the Empire. An old friend returns. </p><p>So why can't Corvo sleep?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> My first playthru of Dishonored, I ended on medium chaos and sobbed my eyes out. My second playthru, I went for low chaos because I could not stand to see all that suffering again. I didn't cry the second time around, but something about the low chaos ending really struck me as too happy—false, almost. I refuse to believe that the events of the game would not have severely fucked people up. And so this story was born. 
> 
> This piece is very experimental for me—both in style and content. I'd love to get your feedback!

The audiograph player clicks, and starts recording.  
  
"Tell me, Lord Attano, about Coldridge Prison. Six months, was it? And knowing all the time that you could do nothing, and were due for execution…"  
  
The man trails off. He is small, and eager-looking.  
  
"There really isn't much to tell," I say, avoiding his intense stare.  
  
"But there must be! Come on, my Lord, I need some material. I can't just skip this bit."  
  
I look down at the desk. "Torture, sometimes. After a while the Royal Torturer got bored, I think. Sometimes Burrows would come in on his own. Mostly to gloat, I think."  
  
The man leans forward. "Good! What else?"  
  
"I did get some due. Most of the other prisoners were in there for small things—Bottle Street boys, desperate people caught stealing. It might have been exciting, having such a high profile prisoner. They hired a man to shave me. They'd strap me into a chair. He was scared, at first."  
  
Saul Harker nods happily. "Go on."  
  
I pause for a moment.   
  
"I never got his name. We had some good conversations. The last time I saw him, he told me that he thought I was innocent."  
  
"Anything more?"  
  
"No."  
  
Harker clicks off the audiograph player and files the punchcard into his notes. "Thank you very much, sir. Are you free next week?"  
  
* * *  
  
It's hard, reliving everything. The memories still feel fresh, and sharp. Saul Harker is incorrigible. He is small and frail, but there is a ferocity to him, which drives him in his work. Telling other peoples' stories.   
  
He begged me for a long time before I gave in. Interviews only, I said. And I would have final say over what material actually went in the book. He complained a lot. "You're too reserved! Hardly anyone knows a thing about you! Can't we change this?"  
  
"Those are my conditions."  
  
* * *  
  
There was no need to tell him about Kingsparrow Island. The whole city knew. My hands up, all weapons cast aside. The Guard playing back Havelock's audiographs. And I could breathe freely, for the first time in months.  
  
The coronation. I think most of the celebration _was_ genuine, although no doubt the aristocracy was scheming away over how they could come out of the whole mess ahead. With a dagger, in some cases. But in the end, it turned out mostly well. Emily was happy to be home again—with Callista, who stayed on with us. Samuel was the most celebrated riverboat pilot in the city. Piero was reinstated at the Academy, and did end up with a Royal appointment. He and Sokolov are so tight these days, you hardly see one without the other. The shadow of plague was lifted, thanks to their efforts. Crimes committed during the interregnum were tried.   
  
Occasionally you still see a Pandyssian bull rat in the city, although the bounty for rat tails proved fruitful.   
  
And life went on.  
  
* * *  
  
Harker's stack of audiographs has been piling up. It's been several weeks now, and he's as happy as a river krust.   
  
Has it really been two years?  
  
* * *  
  
My life feels pointless these days. I've had a purpose for so long, it feels strange to be without one. The ceremony in which Emily chose her Lord Protector was several months ago, and I still haven't adjusted to being out of a job.  
  
I still have a place at court. I don't think anyone would contest that. But things are slow. I've trained the new person up—mostly in affairs of security, and court protocol. She's a proficient fighter—there was no use in training her in combat.  
  
That’s right, the new Lord Protector is a woman. Amelie Kingsparrow. She's the second to hold the position—besides me—who isn't from Gristol. She grew up in a small trading port on the Pandyssian Coast, and joined the Imperial Navy at a young age. Must be hard being a woman, and a foreigner, but if the stares and comments bother her, she never shows it. She and Emily are devoted to each other. Emily is smart. As smart as Jess was at her age. She couldn't've made a better choice.   
  
* * *  
  
The nightmares still plague. Sokolov, as always, refuses sleep drugs. "Can't have you getting addicted," he says. He always glances towards his liquor cabinet when he says that.   
  
Piero is a little more relenting. He understands. The sleep toxin, unfortunately, has become less effective over time. Piero says he can't use it anymore. "No use," he says. He has shadows under his eyes most of the time. "The body develops a resistance to chemicals," he says. "Similar to how the alcoholic must consume more and more to become drunk, so does any medicine used over the long term lose its efficacy."  
  
He pretends not to look at the gloves I wear at all times, and I pretend not to see the rune he wears under his shirt.   
  
Is the power of the Void addicting?  
  
I haven't used any of the Outsider's gifts since the coronation. I wonder if Daud ever felt the same way. I wonder where he is now.  
  
As I rushed through the Flooded District, consumed with fury, only one thought kept me sane. And keeps me sane, to this day.  
  
I am not Daud.  
  
* * *  
  
Harker looks at me. He has a blank audiograph card. "What should we work on today?" he asks.  
  
In a way, the man has become my psychotherapist.  
  
* * *  
  
I'm sitting at a table in the dining room at Dunwall Tower, going over building plans with Amelie. The remains of dinner have been set aside. I take a sip of wine and point to a vent on the plan. "How are you going to cover that?" I ask.  
  
She looks down at it, pursing her lips, and consults the plan's scale. "Are you sure a person could even fit in there?" she says.   
  
"Don't rule it out," I say. "I've gotten in through there before."  
  
She looks up at me, and runs a hand through her hair. "I think a patrol through that hallway would be sufficient," she says. "Corvo, not many people are like you."  
  
"But some are," I reply. I glance at her. Dark skin, tightly cropped textured hair. Things have been going well. She's got court protocol down to an art by now, and I've left her in charge of the last few security arrangements. She's done well. I think back to my own training, when the previous Lord Protector did the same. Hours spent pouring over blueprints. Costing out fees for the guards, and their equipment.   
  
I set the wine glass down. "That's enough for tonight. You feel ready for the fugue feast?"  
  
"That's not for another few months."  
  
"The planning takes a few months."  
  
Amelie nods. "You're a good teacher." She studies my face closely. "You need to take some time for yourself, Corvo. You look like shit."  
  
That's another thing I like about Amelie. She doesn't mince words, or dress things up in flattery. Besides, she's right. I can't sleep. I know my face is drawn. Probably similar to how I looked while in prison.   
  
"If I take any more time for myself," I respond, "I think I'd go crazy."  
  
* * *  
  
Harker's on the edge of his seat. He has a whole stack of blank audiographs this time, I notice. "What's on your mind?" I ask him.  
  
"I want to talk about your time with the Loyalists," he says. "How they planned to take back the throne, your missions. I want every detail, my Lord. This is what the public lives for. So much got hushed up. People should know!"  
  
My back stiffens. "You want all the gory details?"  
  
He nods happily. "Yes! How you went about tracking people down, what it was like to take back the city, bit by bit!"  
  
And before I can stop myself, I've blown a gasket.  
  
"So you want to turn this book into sensationalism? A story of the daring assassin and his victims?"  
  
"Well, no, that's not quite what I—"  
  
"Because if that's what you want, you can stop right there." I rip the blank card out of the audiograph player. "If that's what you're going to turn this into, then you can burn all those audiographs, here and now. Go on. I'll wait."  
  
"My Lord, I—"  
  
"I did despicable things for despicable people, it's true. And if you think that doesn't weigh heavily on my conscience, _every single day_ , well then fuck off and get your sensation from someone else. I tried to maintain a sense of myself as much as I could, do you understand? Trying to maintain your humanity while hunting down people with the intent to kill? I tried. I tried my best. But people got hurt. Sometimes I think it would've been better if I _did_ kill some of them."  
  
"Sir—"  
  
"And you know what the worst bit is? People called me a _hero_. A good man. Because I destroyed lives. Does good intent even matter in such cases? I really don't think it does. I took the only way I saw at the time. And you want to hype that up to turn a profit and to entertain people. I might be a terrible person, but even I think that's low."  
  
I sit back, breathing heavily. Saul looks to be on the verge of tears.  
  
A moment passes.   
  
"That's not what I had in mind," he says hesitantly.   
  
"I—shit. I'm sorry, Saul. I didn't mean it like that."  
  
"No, no." He shakes his head. "You're quite right." He reaches out and puts the audiographs away. "I—I need to rethink some things." He turns away and starts packing his notes. "Give me a week? And we can go over things together. And be truthful, this time?"  
  
 I nod. There doesn't seem to be anything else to say.

  



	2. Old Bricks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. It's been a very rough few days for me. I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to look at this. I'm sticking the next chapter up early, just to give myself a little extra motivation to keep going. Thank you so much for the support and the kudos!
> 
> The next chapter will go up on Oct 8.

There are rumors that the Hound Pits club is opening again.

After the City Watch stripped the building for evidence, it was left vacant. In the wake of Havelock's death, and all the sorting out that the city needed to do, no one was too interested in purchasing it.

But now the boards have come off the windows, the façade has been brightened up, and shipments of food have been spotted arriving. Notices put up all over the city announced the grand reopening. Piero and I have decided to go; everyone else abstained.

It'll be interesting to see if old memories can be laid to rest underneath new brickwork.

* * *

The line stretches around the block.

I'm not sure how many people can be safely packed in there, but it's safe to say that number has been exceeded. Piero polishes his glasses on his shirt.

As we step in through the front door, we're greeted by a roar of sound and an enthusiastic hostess asking us to sign the guestbook. We put down our names and squeeze into the bar. There's a bit of cheering when people spot us. I'm used to being a public figure, but Piero squirms a bit. He wanted fame, but now he's not sure if it agrees with him.

We finish a few glasses of whiskey. By the taste of it, they've stopped diluting it with river water. The food is also surprisingly good—snacks from all over the isles, as well as some more exotic offerings, no doubt from the Pandyssian coast. There's no point in conversation. My ears are buzzing. The interior is still a bit seedy, although it's cleaner than I've ever seen it. I pick up a brochure for room rental, snort when I see it, and hand it to Piero. He laughs as well. The attic room is the most expensive room in the place, being advertised as "the seat of Dunwall's liberation". Someone is a good marketer. According to the brochure, Emily's old tower is also being reconstructed, for more rooms opening next year. We haven't looked out back yet, but the yard has also been spiffed up, according to the description, and riverboat docks added in.

A few hours have passed. Piero, thoroughly drunk by now, excuses himself. I set my coat down on his barstool for when he comes back. The noise has died down a bit, and people are starting to trickle out.

"Corvo!" I hear my name called, and glance around. Before I know it, someone is hugging me from across the bar. After a few seconds, I'm released, and I look into Cecelia's smiling face.

"Cecelia?" I stammer. "I—I wasn't sure you were alive. It's good to see you!"

She leans on the bar. She still dresses like a boy, I notice, but her clothes are much finer now. "It's good to see you too," she says. "I'm really happy you came tonight, I wasn't sure if I'd see you."

I finish my glass. "So are you working here?

Her smile widens. "I'm the new owner."

"No shit! Congratulations. You've done a good job."

"Thanks." Cecelia refills my glass. "On the house. I'm not sure I would've survived without you."

"You don't owe me anything," I respond. "You saved my life too with that apartment." I indicate my glass. "I'll buy you one."

"Not while I'm working," she says.

My brain is burning with curiosity. "Where were you for two years? I was worried."

She ignores the question and glances at the empty seat next to me. "Is someone else with you?"

"Piero decided to come."

She winces. "I don't really want to see him."

"I don't think you'll have to. I'll probably take him home soon, he's sloshed."

She laughs. "That's an odd image."

I smile too. It really is. Piero's too meticulous to imagine being drunk. "Speaking of which," I add, "he's been gone for a while. I should probably go find him."

"Well, have a good night, in that case," she says. "You'll come around again, won't you? I don't think it'll be this crazy every night."

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it. Night."

I grab my coat and check the bathroom. Piero's passed out on the floor. I carefully tuck his glasses into my pocket and hoist him over my shoulder. I go out back, trying to avoid looking at the spot where Samuel used to sleep.

A riverboat takes us home. I pay him a little extra to avoid gossip, and lug Piero up to his apartment. Sokolov is up there, examining something under a lens.

"What happened to him?" Sokolov asks.

"A little too much." I'm unsteady on my feet as well. Piero and I are both going to have glorious hangovers in the morning. "Can you keep an eye on him?"

Sokolov nods. "Corvo," he says as I start to leave, "don't use the sleep toxin tonight. It can react badly with alcohol."

So he knows.

* * *

Piero languishes in the laboratory, looking pale. "Want to do that again sometime?" I ask him.

He winces and turns away. "Absolutely not. I need all my mental faculties in place from now on, I'm working on a rather delicate project."

"Not even to see old friends?"

He glances at me. "What was that?"

"Remember Cecelia? She's the new owner of the place. I was talking with her while you were busy being unconscious."

He blinks slowly. "I think I recall…actually, I'm not sure. I was very focused at the time."

I shake my head. Hopeless is an understatement when it comes to Piero. "In that case," I say, "I'll tell her you said hi."

All hangovers aside, I haven't slept as well as I did last night in years.

* * *

The bar is quiet tonight. Partly because of the pouring rain—and I'm sure most are still nursing hangovers.

Cecelia's not around when I sit at the bar. I order a few drinks, and the evening begins.

The noise of the rain only increases as time goes by. I start to consider my options for bailing, although the warmth of the stove tempts me to stay. I feel like a riverboat would be swamped in weather like this.

The glasses pile up.

The few other people in here are quiet, for the most part. I get the feeling that they're in here for the same reason I am—for a reason to ignore the world for a while.

My vision blurs, and it takes me a few moments to realize that Cecelia is standing in front of me. Her voice seems to come far away. "Are you all right?"

I set down the glass. "I shwear by the Void I have money to pay for thish."

She purses her lips. "That's not what I'm worried about."

I flop a hand at the bartender, who refills the glass, but not without escaping Cecelia's glare. I slam the drink down, avoiding her eyes.

"Can you even stand up?"

I wonder the same, and give it a try. The floor pitches, but I'm ok.

There are voices. "I don't think we can get him home in this weather"—also, "no more. Don't ever let a patron get this drunk again. I want to be able to get them out of here at the end of the night without worrying."

The fire in the stove is so cozy. I stare at it for a bit.

I might be climbing stairs. "She's a dear, but very inexperienced. It takes a while to hammer things into her head, but her way with the customers makes up for it."

A pause. "I miss Lydia."

There's some sadness in that name, but I can't put a finger on it right now.

I think the night has turned out rather well.

* * *

It's not my own bed I wake up in.

It takes a while to figure out where I am. Thinking through the pounding headache is hard. Slowly, the contours of the room click in my memory, and it comes to me: Havelock's old office at the Hound Pits.

Somehow I don't think I ever made it back to Dunwall Tower last night.

The room is different, however. A desk has been pushed up against the wall. There are crates stacked up in the corners. The bookshelves are there, but most of the books Havelock kept are gone. Instead, a few files are piled up.

I raise a hand on front of my face. My gloves are still on. Good. The Outsider's mark is a secret I guard closely.

I carefully turn onto my side, and see my boots lined up beside the bed.

The door opens, and I flinch at the sound. Cecelia walks in, carrying mugs of coffee. The scent revives me a little bit. She sets the mugs down on the desk and looks at me. "Good to see you're alive."

"Uh huh."

"Seriously, what was that? I've never known you to be self destructive."

"Coffee?"

"Only if you sit up."

The room spins as I sit up. I bury my head in my hands for a few minutes. She sits on the bed next to me and hands me the mug.

"Sorry about this," I mutter.

She shook her head. "I just want to be sure you're all right."

I sip at the coffee. It tastes metallic in my dry mouth. The heat burns my tongue. "I'm fine."

"No you're not."

"Can we not do this?" I grumble, blowing on the coffee. "I feel like shit enough as it is."

"You did that to yourself."

I don't argue. Cecelia used to be rather easy to plow over in a conversation. She's gotten so much more confident since I last saw her. I set the coffee aside and pull on my boots. "I'd better be going, they're probably missing me at the Tower."

"I sent a note," Cecelia said. "They know you're here."

"Seriously?"

She catches my tone. "It's perfectly reasonable for a man to spend a night revisiting old memories, no?" she says. "I didn't put in the details."

I relax. "Good. Last thing I need is everyone at court prying into my business."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, nursing the coffee.

"If you want an excuse to stay away for a while, I could use some help unloading the next shipment and updating the books."

I nod, taking her up on the offer. "It'd be good to have a change of pace."

"I thought so." Cecelia takes my mug. "There's breakfast downstairs."

I follow her down to the bar. A continental breakfast is arranged on silver trays. I'm surprised to find Serkonan rice cakes with spiced vegetable gravy. I load up a plate and take a seat across from Cecelia at the booth. "Nice spread."

She smiles. "I do want to improve our reputation for food, at the very least."

"I think you've done a good job. This is a lot classier than it used to be." I break apart a rice cake. "You keeping the name for show or will there actually be hound fights again?"

"I'm not sure yet, honestly." She has a plate of eggs and ham. "I don't really like the idea much, but you can't deny that hound fights are a good tourist draw."

I nod. There are figs in the gravy, I notice. I haven't eaten food like this in years.

I bask in the quiet breakfast chatter and the morning light coming in through the windows. The rain seems to have stopped. I still feel a bit like shit, but that's wearing off quickly.

After breakfast, we head out to the docks with the rest of the staff. I work off the breakfast quickly as we carry in seemingly unending crates. The Horizon Company out of Karnaca—Tyvvian Traders—casks of wine and whiskey. A few crates from a Sholto Craig in Morley. Cecelia goes over the paperwork and fees.

The sun is nearly overhead by the time everything is unloaded. I take off my coat and follow Cecelia up to her office. "Opening night really did a number on the stock," she comments cheerfully. "I didn't expect half that many people!"

We settle down at the desk. I do sums on an abacus while she calculates inventory. "You're doing well for only two days in," I say, looking at her books.

"I better," she says. "All the preparation and construction was not cheap. Even at this rate, it's going to be a few years before all the loans are paid back."

I bring up that question again. "Where were you for two years? And how did you come up with the capital to invest in this place?"

Cecelia pointedly does not look at me. "It's not important."

And now I'm more curious than ever.

* * *

A few days pass. Amelie berates me when I get back to the Tower. "Don't _do_ that," she says. "I'd like to at least know when you're not planning on not coming home."

I wither under her gaze. Was I that overprotective during my tenure as Lord Protector? Probably.

* * *

I still haven't heard back from Saul Harker. I hope I didn't scare the guy. As annoying and intrusive as he is, I kind of feel bad for him.


	3. What an Empire is Built On

Empty sleep darts pile up beside my bed. I consider upping the dose, but Piero has been very clear on one point: too much will kill you, even if you have a tolerance.

I don't know what to do. I'm wearing a hole in the floorboards, pacing every night. Sometimes I sit out on the roof at night and watch the city sleep. Last night, there were fireworks coming from the estate district.

I remember all those nights with Jess, sharing whiskey and cigars and conversation. I miss those days, like a knife to the heart. I can never go back.

I pull out a rune from my bedside table and clench it in my hand. It grows warm, but I can't feel any sense of the Void, of the Outsider's presence. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry I've been so _boring_."

The words vanish into the darkness. "I feel like I've let everyone down."

"What am I _doing_ with my life?"

It would be easier to drink myself into oblivion than do this day after day.

* * *

It's been a few hours by the time Cecelia comes into the bar. She spots me and swipes away my glass. "Oh _no_. We are not doing this again."

"I'm going slower this time," I protest.

Cecelia sighs. "Look, I really don't want to have to drag a half-conscious you anywhere tonight. Why are you doing this?"

"You really want to know?" I'm at that stage of drunkenness where I'm irritable and liable to bite someone's head off. "I can't sleep anymore, Cecelia. I haven't been able to sleep in months. I have no purpose any more in life. I don't know what to do with myself. And I can't stand it."

I look down at the bar. "Drinking is easier than living."

She leans on the bar and gives me a good long look. "Do you want to stay here again tonight?" she asks. "I have an empty room on the third floor."

I return her gaze. "You unbricked it?"

"Yep. And you will not _believe_ some of the stuff that got left behind."

I nod. "Sounds fair. Thank you."

She points me to the room. It's musty, and I throw the windows open to let in the night breeze. I open the bedside table in the room out of curiosity, and find a worn bone charm. I stick it under my pillow.

* * *

The hope of sleeping slowly wears off as the hours pass. Frustrated, I pace the length of the room, occasionally glancing out the window, waiting for sunrise.

There's a knock on my door. I open it. Cecelia is standing there, looking disheveled. It's the first time I've seen her without a hat. Her hair really is a pretty color.

"You woke me up with your pacing," she says, without any greeting.

"I'm sorry." I run my fingers through my hair. "I wasn't joking about not sleeping."

"I guess not."

I plop down on the bed. Silently, she sits next to me.

"Look," Cecelia says. "You were the only one who ever listened to me back then. It helped a lot. If you ever want me to return the favor, I'd be happy to."

I say nothing, but pull out the bone charm and fiddle with it.

She looks at it. "Yeah, I found that when I pulled up a moth-eaten rug. It's kinda like those little bone pieces I used to find on the riverbank when I was a kid."

"You might want to get rid of it," I say, turning it over in my hands. "These are extremely illegal."

"Really? What is it?"

"It's a token of the Outsider," I reply. She looks startled, and quickly murmurs a bit from the Strictures. "I'll take it, if you want."

Cecelia looks at me, eyes wide. "You keep these pieces, then? But that's witchcraft."

I tuck the bone into my pocket. "It's fine." She doesn't look convinced. "Really, it's fine." And we drop the subject.

More silence.

"Piero says hi, by the way."

"Really?" she says. "I wasn't sure he'd remember who I was."

I grin despite myself. "Ok, that was a lie. He's the same as he always was."

She smiles too.

"I take it you're not interested in him anymore?"

Her grin grows wider. "Nope."

"Can I ask why? I mean—he doesn't really think of people much. At all."

Cecelia gazes up at the ceiling. "I liked that he had big dreams. He wasn't just after power, like Havelock and all the rest. He wants to unravel the universe. And that's exciting." Then she looks at me. "But I have big dreams of my own now. I don't really need another person's."

I smile. "I think that's a good reason."

She nods. The silence this time is a bit more companionable.

"Have you ever had that?" I ask slowly. "When your life seems to break down and you're not sure where to turn?"

"Well, yeah. I had an apartment in the Rudshore District for a while. Then everything flooded, and I was out a home, out a job—the Hound Pits was a boon, because they gave me enough to eat and a place to sleep. It was hard for a while." She stands. "I really do need to sleep, I'm sorry."

"Wait. Please?"

"Corvo, it's probably 4 in the morning."

"I don't know if you remember this," I continue, ignoring her, "you might've been too young—but one year, there was a parade. I was riding with Jess in a car and I spotted someone in a window several floors up in a nearby building. He had a gun."

Cecelia turns around. "The assassination attempt? I remember. I wasn't that young."

"Anyway, I spotted him and he was aiming directly at us. I didn't have much time, but I managed to block Jess, and ended up with a bullet in the shoulder. Tried firing at him, but between the pain and the chaos, I couldn't get a good shot. The City Watch caught him a few days later, but he died very quickly. I think he was one of the first victims of the rat plague."

Cecelia sits down on the bed again. "It was amazing that you saw him at all."

"That's the thing, though. It kept running through my head what would've happened if I hadn't seen him in time. I couldn't stand the thought of Jess being shot like that. Maybe he could've gotten off a few shots if I couldn't react. Maybe she would've died. It was terrible. We were both having nightmares after that. I couldn't sleep because of the bullet wound. I kept seeing gunmen in the shadows."

"How did you deal with that?"

I look down, and shrug. "We dealt with it together. We kept waking each other up in the middle of the night."

Cecelia averts her eyes, and flushes slightly. So she believes those old rumors too, then.

"It got better over time. I guess time heals all wounds." I stretch. "Except maybe that bullet hole in my shoulder. That still hurts sometimes."

She giggles, then quiets, aware of the moment. She hesitates. "I—I know this is a rather personal question, but were you in love with her? The Empress?"

I hate this conversation. "Of _course_ I loved her. I loved her immensely. She was one of the best people I've known."

"But—I mean—were you— _in_ love with her?"

"I loved her," I repeat, frustrated. "Just not the way that most people think."

"But—the rumors?"

"Just rumors."

I remember that uncomfortable time, right after Jess discovered she was pregnant, that Sokolov interrogated me for an hour on the subject. "I don't fall in love that way," I add.

Cecelia backs down. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I just get tired of those assumptions."

I glance out the window. There's a faint glow on the horizon. "It's nearly morning."

Cecelia winces. "I don't know how you manage to go without sleep like this."

"I don't." I bury my head in my hands. "I know it's a lot to ask, but would you mind staying? I guess…maybe I need someone to help me deal with things."

She looks at me for a moment. "All right."

I lay back on the bed, the bone charm poking me as I shift my weight. She carefully lies next to me. Focusing on the sound of her breathing, I try to let go of any thoughts that intrude.

* * *

When I wake up, the light outside is bright. I carefully roll over, noticing that the bed is empty. One of my gloves has partially come off.

I pull it back on and sit up. Did I really sleep until noon?

The ground floor is bustling with the lunch crowd. I order a sandwich and grab a seat, basking in the busy atmosphere. My head feels light, as if some weight has been lifted from it. I've forgotten how good actual sleep can be.

Cecelia comes over. "Do always eat with your gloves on?"

"I always wear them in public," I reply, keeping my voice down.

She nods. "Can't talk long, it's really busy, and we've got a lot of bookings to prepare for." She turns to leave.

"Cecelia? Hey—thanks. For last night."

"I'm glad it helped," she said. "Sorry I let you sleep so late. I didn't want to wake you up or anything."

I shake my head. "Not an issue."

After lunch, I head back to Dunwall Tower, opting to walk instead of taking a riverboat. The day is hot, and the mood in the city is cheerful.

When I get back to the Tower, I find Emily, Callista, and Amelie having tea in the dining room. They appear to be in the middle of a fierce discussion.

I bow. "Do you ladies mind if I join?"

Emily looks up. "Have a seat, Corvo. Callista, could you pour him some tea?"

I accept the cup and add some powdered spice and milk. Tea is good for hot days. I sit back in my seat as they resume the conversation.

"I worry about the stability of the Empire," Callista says, looking at Emily. "We've come so far in two years. Things haven't been this good for a long time. An insurrection could upset all that progress."

"She's right," Amelie adds. "Remember what Admiral Baxandall was saying this morning? You'd be wise to listen to your advisors, my Lady."

Whatever the issue is, Emily holds her ground. "I don't want anyone to die." She turns to me. "Corvo? Please, tell them. No one's going to die on my watch. We're not going to go to war!"

I don't usually concern myself with politics unless they threaten the peace of a state dinner. "Hold on a minute," I say. "What's this about war?"

Amelie's face is grave. "We've been getting intelligence reports from Morley. The sentiment is leaning more towards independence than we've seen in a long time. There are reports that they're preparing to secede. Violently, if they have too."

Callista breaks in. "If Morley manages to break away from the Empire, it could set an example for anyone else harboring thoughts of independence. It might be the first step to the Empire dissolving."

Emily folds her arms. "And what's so bad about that? Why does there need to be an Empire?"

"For one thing," I say, "it promotes unity among the isles. More progress can be made if we're all working together."

"You're supposed to be on my side here," Emily says. "I don't want to send people to kill other people. I don't want anybody to die!"

I think back to the execution of Hiram Burrows. I'd told Emily before, "No matter how bad it seems, you can't look away. A man—no matter how bad a man he is—is about to die, and you owe him the respect of not looking away." After the headsman was finished, and the body had stopped twitching, Emily had turned to me, with a determined look.

"I don't want anyone else to die, Corvo. Not by my orders."

"Well," I say now, "you don't have to decide this over tea. We're not going to go to war unless Parliament approves it unanimously." I turn to Amelie. "How recent are these reports?"

"They're nebulous at best," she says, "but the intelligence officers are worried. And that worries me."

I nod and stir the tea. "Corvo, please?" Emily says.

"I'm not a politician, Emily," I say, backing out of the discussion. Her face falls, and we change the topic.

* * *

I receive a note that evening from Saul Harker. _Are you free to meet in the next two days?_

I send a note back, and decide not to spend any more time pacing. The floorboards should have a rest.

I make my way to the roof instead, and sit on the tiles. A few metal beams remain from Burrows' old hideout. We tore it down, but left a little reminder of the paranoia that comes with tyranny.

"Corvo?"

I turn around. Emily is standing behind me, her hair blowing in the night breeze.

"What are you doing up this late?" I ask.

"I followed you. Is this where you come when you're not happy?"

I hold out an arm, and Emily sits and nestles into my side. "I'm fine, Emily. Don't worry about me."

The air smells of sea salt, overlapping the stench of the Wrenhaven. "I'm worried about a lot of things," she says quietly.

"Like Morley?"

"Yes."

I hug her. "Sometimes it's not easy to make choices like that."

She looks up at me. "How did Mother do it?"

I stare over the city. "She struggled with things too. She wasn't always able to make the choice that she believed was right.

"An empire—even with an Empress—is a collaborative thing," I say. "You can't just do what you want."

"Burrows did."

"Emily, Burrows was a bastard. Excuse my Tyvian. He had to have things his way. And that's why he was such a poor ruler. Sometimes you have to put aside your feelings, even if it hurts."

We watch the lights of the city for a while. The whaling trawlers cruise through the harbor, carrying their massive quarry. The lights on Kaldwin's Bridge blink on and off, signaling to ships.

"I don't know what I'm going to do."

"There isn't always a good answer, Emily. Sometimes we just need to pick the answer that is the least bad."

"That's not comforting."

"I'm sorry."

She stands. "I'm going to go to bed, Corvo. Thanks for not being comforting."

"Hmm?"

"If I want to be like Mother, I guess I have to learn to deal with it."

I smile despite myself. "You're welcome."

"Good night."

"Sleep well." As she turns and makes her way down below, I turn back to the vista.

Last night's sleep was a short-lived respite. Sleep does not find me tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The assassination attempt is purely my own invention. Thanks once again for reading! The next chapter will go up on Oct 12.


	4. Once More

Rather than sit in on council meetings all day, I escape to the city and wander, letting my mind wander with my feet. As the sun begins to sink, my mind and feet carry me back to the Hound Pits.

I'm not sure what I'm going to say to Saul Harker when I see him next. Maybe call off the whole damn thing. I don't know why anyone would want to read about me, especially these days, with my mind being as broken as it is.

I ponder this over a glass of whiskey.

Cecelia leans on the bar across from me. We don't speak for a few minutes.

"I think half my income is coming from your drinking habits," she says.

I ignore this. "Wherever you were for two years, did you hear anything about Morley?"

She turns pale and looks away. "Why?"

I note the response. "Never mind." I slam down the glass. "Can we go upstairs? I don't particularly want to chat in public."

"Sure." I think she's indulging me to keep me from drinking any more.

We hole up in her office. The days keep getting hotter, but the nights are still cool. She has the windows open.

She glances at my gloves. "We're not in public?"

I ignore that too. Something in the atmosphere seems fractured, but I can't put my finger on it. Awkwardness, maybe.

"It's a terrible position to put a child in," I say.

"Huh?"

"I mean, how the hell is a twelve year old supposed to decide whether to take an empire into war?"

"What are you talking about?"

I run my hands through my hair. "Morley wants independence. And we've been getting reports that they're heading very quickly to a violent succession."

Cecelia turns away and stares out the window. "Two years out of the shadow of plague, and now the threat of war is looming? Can't the world give Lady Emily a break?"

I snort. "Not likely."

"There doesn't have to be war!"

Her response is so vehement that I pause for a second. There might be something she's not telling me, but I don't want to dig into it right now. Things seem fragile enough. Instead, I pull off my gloves, hoping to change the topic. I throw them aside, and the noise causes her to face me, and stare at my hands. Hand.

"I saw that tattoo before," she says. "It's—it's the same as on those runes, isn't it."

"It's not a tattoo," I say. "And yes. It is the same."

"Witchcraft."

"I didn't seek him out, if you must know. Some people put up shrines, perform rituals. Sometimes he just comes to people. Like he haunts Piero's dreams. Like he came to me. He gets _bored_. Thinks of people as his playthings."

"What does it mean, for you?"

I slump into the desk chair. "Power. But also the choice whether to use it or not."

She continues to stare at my hand.

"I haven't. Not since the coronation."

Her face softens a bit.

"I am not Daud." This was important. "Please. Trust me on this."

Cecelia nods. "Ok."

And suddenly the tension breaks, the shards of it floating out into the night sky.

"There's too much worry for all of us," I say softly.

Cecelia nods. "Between Lady Emily, you, and politics, I don't know how you keep it up."

"I don't. Can I stay tonight?"

We curl up together in her bed, pulling up the blankets to ward off the night chill. She reaches over and takes my left hand, her eyes tracing the mark. "What's it like?" she whispers.

"It's scary."

"Really?"

"Just to know that you can move the world around you if you wish. I didn't think about it much when everything was going on. And then, once I had a moment to breathe, it hit me, just how crazy everything was."

"Has—he—come to you since then?"

"No. I'm boring now." My voice isn't bitter.

"I guess a quiet life is better than an interesting one."

"Yeah." I close my fingers over her hand, and we fall asleep like this.

* * *

Cecelia wakes us up early. The life of a hospitality manager is one that calls for rising with the sun. One of the staff pokes her head around the door. "Mia's not feeling well this morning, ma'am."

"Let her sleep," Cecelia says. "I can wipe tables."

"I mean," she adds, "not that I haven't wiped enough tables in my life."

I chuckle. "You seem like a good employer."

"I hope so. A lot of these girls had no place to go. Dunwall can be hard on women, in case you never noticed. I want them to not have to be invisible."

I nod. I hadn't noticed before now that all her employees are women.

I sneak a slice of bread as the sun comes up. With the sun comes a loud banging on the door. Cecelia peeks out a window and, a look of surprise on her face, opens the door. Callista marches in, folding a sun parasol. "Corvo. Thank goodness. We need you back at the Tower, now."

I tense. "Is something wrong?"

She gestures with her parasol as if it's a sword. One of the serving girls shrinks back. "Council meetings," she says. "But they want you there. I get the feeling Emily's planning something."

I pop the rest of the bread into my mouth. "Ok. I'll be right there."

Callista stands awkwardly in the doorway as I tell Cecelia I'm leaving.

They've sent a car to grab me, I notice. Callista and I pile in and the engine starts with a grumble. The driver carefully threads his way through the morning crowds.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" I ask.

"New reports have come in from our agents in Morley," Callista replies. "They've called a Congress, and they're asking us to recognize it, or they're threatening disruptions from their whaling operations."

I lean back in the seat. "Shit. I don't see any way this is going to turn out pretty."

"What's more," Callista adds, "from the sound of it, they've got agents in Dunwall. With close connections to the Crown. There's information being leaked that even Parliament hasn't been informed of."

I can feel the blood drain out of my face. "Any idea who these agents are?"

"None," Callista says grimly. "I know you haven't been around much lately, so you've missed the worst of it. Everyone's accusing each other."

We arrive at Dunwall Tower, and make our way to the meeting. Servants are laying out a light breakfast. Emily and Amelie are huddled over toast, talking quietly. Captain Curnow is there, sitting rigidly upright and tapping his fingers on the table. Admiral Baxandall glances quickly around the room, his eyes lingering on each person's face.

I take the empty seat on the other side of Emily. Callista sits next to me. Emily leans over. "Don't worry, Corvo. I think I've got this."

"I never doubted you. But best to also listen to what everyone has to say."

She nods, a confident smile on her face. Somehow I doubt that she's going to take my advice.

When everyone has been seated, the servants withdraw. Over the faint sounds of breakfast, Emily opens the meeting. "My lords, gentlemen. Good morning. As you all know, we're here because of increasing worry over the Morley situation." She pauses for a moment and takes a sip of tea. "I have taken military action off the table as an option, for now." She ignores the grumbling of the Admiral, and turns to Curnow. "Captain, have you any more information on possible spies in Dunwall?"

Curnow clears his throat. "My men have come up with a list of names that we're investigating. We are not limiting the investigation to Dunwall Tower. It is possible that information is being collected by servants of the nobility or service providers. I'll know more within the week."

"Thank you Captain."

The discussion continues, and the servants clear away breakfast. The Admiral is obviously unhappy with Emily's decision to stay away from war. Amelie eventually has to warn him to be silent. I lean back and relax, happy for once in my life that I don't have to deal with irate nobility much anymore.

Callista leans over to me at one point and whispers, "Brace yourself."

Before I can ask her what she's expecting, Emily taps the table. "My Lords, I would like to make a proposal."

I brace myself.

"During the Rat Plague crisis, my mother, Jessamine Kaldwin, sent Lord Corvo Attano on a diplomatic mission to ask for aid from the Isles. The mission was a failure. But this time, we are not dealing with plague. My mother was always committed to doing right by her people, and not using violence.

"Diplomacy should be our main tactic in this situation. There is no risk to my life. I am not sending away Amelie Kingsparrow. I will not make the same mistakes my mother did."

Her eyes alight on me. "Lord Attano, you, Callista Curnow, and Piero Joplin will head a diplomatic mission to Morley. You will talk to the leader of their new Congress—Sholto Craig, I believe his name is—and work out a compromise. I don't want to forbid their breaking away from the Empire—if we take that option off the table, I believe war will break out—but do all you can to reaffirm our relationship and goodwill, as well as the strength of one united Empire."

The room breaks out into shouting. Emily smirks and sits back in her seat. Callista and I glance at each other. Amelie stands and pounds on the table. "Enough!" she yells. "Empress Kaldwin has spoken. I suggest you all dismiss yourselves. With as much courtesy as you can muster."

Callista and I make our exit. I'm half expecting Emily to call for us to remain, but she does not do so. We turn a few corners and I lean up against the wall. "What is she thinking!"

"It's pretty reasonable if you think about it," Callista comments. "She's right. She can send you with no risk to her safety. She's sending Piero as a reminder: if Morley does secede, then they will no longer have easy access to the technology he and Sokolov have developed. And she's sending me because you two are not politicians."

It does make sense. There's one more point that I don't make aloud: Callista is politically savvy, but she has no titles. It's a slight insult. Between that, and sending me, a hero of the Empire, she's saying that she's not concerned about any danger Morley presents to us.

I take a deep breath. "And Emily came up with this on her own?"

"Well, she and I and Amelie have been talking a bit."

"You arranged this?"

"The mission was Emily's idea. The people—Amelie and I had a hand in that."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Well then. Guess I'm outnumbered."

Callista frowns. "And just what would you do?"

"I don't know. You're right. I'm not a politician. I hit people with swords and eject rude nobles from dinner." I close my eyes. "I don't see what I could do differently, Callista. I guess we just have to trust in this."

Callista smiles. "You don't just hit people with swords. You're also very polite, and that's good for diplomacy."

I snort. Small consolation. But at the same time, I feel like I can do this. Lots of bowing and "sir"-ing. I've done it before, when life was at stake. I can do it again, when the stakes are only an empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The last chapter will go up on Oct 15.


	5. Departure

Saul Harker sits in front of me, his audiograph machine and the usual stack of cards on the desk.

I look at him. He looks at me.

"I'm calling this off," I say.

Before I spoke, his face wavered between hesitation and excitement. Now it falls.

"I think I understand why," he says quietly. "I don't quite blame you."

"It's not that, Saul." I pick up a few cards and flip through them. "I'm leaving soon. I've been assigned to Morley, and I don't know when I'll be back."

"Ah."

"I'm sorry we had to go through all this. I'm sorry you can't get your book."

He looks down at his notes. "What do you want me to do with the stuff that's already been recorded?"

I've thought long and hard about this. It's going to break his heart, but it might just absolve mine.

"Burn all of them." He looks like he's about to cry. "I appreciate what you wanted to do. But I'm going to leave it to history to judge me.

"I don't need to defend myself in any way."

He looks away as he tries not to cry. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. "Saul? If you're interested in writing about the Burrows regency, I'd recommend talking to Geoff Curnow."

He turns back to me, blinking furiously to clear the tears from his eyes. "And—thank you," I add. "I know this was a waste of time for you, but I think it helped me. It's hard to get life back on track sometimes. Reflection is never a bad thing."

He smiles through the tears. "I'm glad we could at least have some talks."

"The pleasure was mine." I wince at the blatant lie. He chuckles, recognizing it for what it is.

We shake hands, and part.

* * *

We get word that evening. We're leaving in two days.

"On this day the 16th of the Month of Timber, I, Empress Emily Kaldwin the First, do commission a diplomatic mission to the Isle of Morley."

My heart is light since my talk with Saul. I'm no longer floundering. I have a purpose again. And I will do my best to prevent war. For Emily. For all of us.

I have to let Cecelia know I'm leaving.

She's wiping down tables when I enter the bar, and lights up when she sees me. "Corvo! How were your meetings?"

I don't want to leave her. She's the first person I've really been able to connect with since everything.

"What's wrong?"

We leave the bar and make our way up to her room. "I'm leaving for Morley on Thursday."

"Morley?" A note of panic creeps into her voice. "For how long?"

"I don't know."

"What for? Didn't you say something about—war?"

I pace around the room. She's sitting on her bed. "Diplomatic mission. We're not going to let this turn into war, not if I can help it." I see a sealed letter on her desk. The name looks familiar, and wedges in my brain.

"Oh," she says. "Well, I wish you luck."

I sit next to her on the bed. "It'll be ok, at least I hope. Callista and Piero are going too."

She looks down and doesn't say anything for a few moments.

"They've called a Congress, apparently," I explain. "Want to force us to acknowledge them as an independent nation. The leader's some guy called Sholto Craig, I've never heard of him, but the Craig name is quite old. If they've got the local nobility backing them this time, things are pretty serious…" I trail off as something clicks into place for me.

"Speaking of which, why is there a letter addressed to Craig on your desk?"

Cecelia's eyes flicker away from me. "So you noticed that."

I hesitate for a moment.

"I worked for him for a year or so."

"So all those years you were missing…?"

Cecelia focuses on me again. There's bitterness in her face. "I needed to get out of Dunwall. I panicked and ended up scrubbing equipment on a whaling trawler. Got sick of that, and left them at Morley. Worked in a hotel for a while, then accidentally overheard some things I should not have.

"So I ended up working for them. The rebels. They were quite impressed that I'd worked for the Conspiracy, even after that went up in flames. They were good to me. I wasn't invisible anymore." Her words poured out her mouth in a rush. "Look, I fully support their cause and I'm not ashamed of that. Just like Burrows took power without permission? It's the same thing. People should be allowed to choose their government." She stood up and paced the length of the room. "Sholto fully supported me too. He lent me money to buy this old shithole and actually realize my dreams. I owe so much to him."

My head is spinning. All this time...

"We know there are spies passing information back to Morley," I say slowly. "You…were you…and me telling you all these things…?"

Cecelia whirls around. "I would never use you like that, Corvo. You have to believe me. I know they have people. We exchange—well, the point is, I never used anything you told me. Please trust me on this."

I'm staring at her. "All this time, you've been working against the Empire?"

"I—yes! If you want to put it that way. Fine. Yes. I'm working against the Empire." She flings her arms wide, mocking me. "I won't apologize for it. I know I'm doing the right thing."

I look down at my lap. "And all this time I wondered why you wouldn't tell me where you'd been."

"I thought it was for the best."

"And with everything we did to restore the Empire?"

"With everything you did, Corvo." Her voice is quiet. "I wasn't part of anything. I scrubbed tables and washed clothing and took all sorts of shit from the Loyalists. They didn't even think enough of me to try and execute me. You did everything. You were the one who went out and stole the Empire back. I never had a hound in that fight. And now, I finally do have something that I care about, that I think is worth doing. You know what that's like, don't you?"

"I thought you _cared_ about what we accomplished back then."

Cecelia stares at me. "Please leave."

I try to meet her eyes.

"If you're going to emotionally blackmail me like that, then I want you gone." She turns and opens the door. "You know the way out. Have fun in Morley, with your loyal Empire friends."

"I—"

"Now."

I storm out of the room and out of the tavern. The lovely weather of the past few days has given way to a disgusting humid mist. Rain is probably on the way.

The whole way back to the Tower, I try to wonder what went wrong. I don't want to watch the Empire be torn apart.

But what about my friends?

* * *

The morning is spent furiously making plans for departure. The council has been in touch with Sholto Craig, and we are expected and being offered every hospitality at their disposal.

Piero is mournful because he cannot bring his entire lab with him. He compensates by packing no less than five crates of supplies. I carefully sort through components with him, and carry the crates to the waterlock. Amazing how tiny implements take up so much space.

At noon, we're informed that our stay is likely to be three months, or even more.

"No Fugue Feast for us," Callista remarks.

"Nope," I say.

Piero doesn't say anything but carefully sorts reagents in a container.

"I never liked it much anyway," I say. "Nightmare for security."

Callista laughs.

We finally get a break after dinner. I claim to have paperwork to sort, and retreat. I carefully lay a piece of paper out in front of me and struggle with what I want to say.

In the end, the letter reads thus:

_Cecelia_

_I am sorry for what I said the other night. I know what it's like to get shit for what you believe to be right. I should have thought of this before I spoke._

_I don't know if I'll see you before I leave. We'll be gone for a while. I'll miss you greatly._

_Whatever happens, please know that I did my best to prevent any loss of life._

_Corvo_

I seal it carefully, and pay a servant to deliver it.

I don't even entertain thoughts of sleeping tonight.

* * *

We're up before the sun, double checking everything and making last minute arrangements. Finally there's nothing to do but head out to the harbor.

We stand in the courtyard, and say our goodbyes. I hug Emily, and pick her up and swing her around like I did when she was tiny. I might miss her birthday this year. 13. Kids grow up so fast.

We collapse in laughter, and out of the corner of my eye, I see someone standing off to the side. I turn around. Cecelia is standing there.

I walk over to her.

"I got your note," she says. "Thank you." She hands me an envelope. "Could you deliver this to Sholto Craig? I told him that he can trust you."

I accept the letter and stick it in my coat. "I appreciate it," I say. "I'll miss you so much."

"I will too. It'll work out for the best." She smiles. "I have faith." She takes my hand.

I lean in and kiss her, her lips soft against mine. She wraps her arms around my waist and draws me closer. After a few moments, we fall into a tight hug.

"Do your best, Corvo," she whispers. "For all our sakes."

"I promise." We break apart, and she turns to go.

Everyone is waiting at the waterlock. As we board the skiff, I look back at Dunwall Tower, and all the people standing in the courtyard. A family, of sorts. For them, I will keep moving forward.

Like I am now.

The water is let out, and our boat descends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end! Once again, I'd love to hear any feedback you might have. Until next time!


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